The Marquis alone attended his guest to the station. They walked up and down the long platform of the Gare du Nord, Sogrange talking most of the time in an undertone, for there were many things which he yet had to explain. There came a time, however, when his grip upon his companion's arm suddenly tightened. They were passing a somewhat noticeable little group--a tall, fair man, with close-shaven hair and military moustache, dressed in an English travelling suit and Homburg hat, and by his side a very brilliant young woman, whose dark eyes, powdered face, and marvellous toilette rendered her a trifle conspicuous. In the background were a couple of servants. "The Count von Hern-Bernadine!" the Marquis whispered. Peter glanced at him for a moment as they passed. "Bernadine, without a doubt!" he exclaimed. "And his companion?" "Mademoiselle Delucie, from the _Comédie Française_," the Marquis replied. "It is just like Bernadine to bring her here. He likes to parade the ostensible cause for his visit to Paris. It is all bluff. He cares little for the ladies of the theatre, or any other woman, except when he can make tools of them. He is here just now----" The Marquis paused. Peter looked at him interrogatively. "Why?" he asked. "Because you are here," the Marquis affirmed. "Baron, I meant to speak to you about that man before we parted. There is no great work done without difficulties. The greatest difficulty you will have to face in your new life is that man. It is very possible that you may find within the course of a few months that your whole career, your very life, has developed into a duel _à outrance_ with him." They had turned again, and were once more in sight of the little group. Bernadine had thrown a loose overcoat over his tweed travelling clothes, and with a cigarette between his fingers was engaged in deferential conversation with the woman by his side. His servant stood discreetly in the background, talking to the other domestic--a sombrely clad young person carrying a flat jewel-case, obviously the maid of the young Frenchwoman. "He is taking her across," the Marquis remarked. "It is not often that he travels like this. Perhaps he has heard that you are susceptible, my friend." Peter shrugged his shoulders. "The game is too young yet!" he declared. "It is never too young for Bernadine to take a hand," the Marquis replied grimly. "Listen, de Grost. Bernadine will probably try to make friends with you. You may think it wise to accept his advances, you may believe that you can guard your own secrets in his company; perhaps, even, that you may learn his. Do not try it, my friend. You have received the best proof possible that we do not underrate your abilities, but there is no other man like Bernadine. I would not trust myself alone with him." "You are taking it for granted," Peter interposed, "that our interests must be at all times inimical." The Marquis laid his hand upon the other's arm.